I’m drawn to these images without faces. Beautiful women with their faces painted, embroidered, blotted out. I’ve been drawn to then for awhile, not noticing the pattern. Or what that means.
Art is my outlet. Emotional. Living. Moving. When I’m drawn to something there is a reason. Whether shallow or deep.
Women with no faces. Beautiful and tranquil. Yet not worth giving a face. An identity.
However, they aren’t just passed over. They are the main subject filling the entire frame. Endless time has been put into crafting and forming an identity, not yet identifiable.
Identifiable to whom is the question. Themselves or the viewer?
Is the facade to save their face, or are they still forming…waiting for a great reveal?
Or are they aware of their depth and beauty and simply protecting themselves from people who can not comprehend that kind of deepness, from those who do not understand the complexity some women carry in their soul? Yes, their faces are unconventional but yes, many many hours have been put into them.
And they are beautifully and wonderfully made.
And I resonate with them.